


Move forward

by themoonowl



Series: Restless, Breathless, Fearless [1]
Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Dancing, Doctorate, Friendship, Gen, Graduation, Light Angst, Moving On, Post-Break Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:14:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25842664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themoonowl/pseuds/themoonowl
Series: Restless, Breathless, Fearless [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1875217
Comments: 4
Kudos: 1





	1. Docteur-ingénieur

The hat had always looked silly on Oli's head, every time he would wear it. Luckily this was to be the last time.

Maman and Papa on both sides, his heart was sunk to his feet as the dean read out names.

Through the haze that were his thoughts, he heard his own: "Olivier Lamarre," followed by a handshake and some kind of congratulations that he could not hear from the loud heartbeat in his ears.

Everything was loud, in fact. The clicking of cameras in the audience, the tapping of someone's foot on the wooden podium he stood on. The round of applause itself drilled a hole in his eardrums.

He blinked.

For a microsecond he was not in the university amphitheatre. He was on a space station, accepting a medal, another hand squeezing his, a whispered: "It'll be over soon, I'm right here."

He blinked again. 

He stood among people in the same robes as him, beads of sweat lining his forehead, his hands numb and holding yet another cylinder box. Maman sat in the third row, a camera in her hand, Papa next to her, a proud grin drawn on his face as he clapped with the rest of the audience.

_ Get it together, Oli, _ he swallowed hard and forced a smile, forced air inside his lungs that felt like someone was tightening a rope around.  _ You are a docteur-ingénieur now. On Earth. Everything is alright. You are safe.  _ Another attempt at a deep breath, a wider smile, one that he did not mean, no matter how hard he tried to.


	2. Rose

Bitter and light, with subtle fruity undertones of sweet grapes, Oli swished the rosé inside of his mouth. The music was subtle and light as well, perfect for a quiet celebration. It was not his cup of tea, yes, yet one could never go wrong with Edith Piaf, after all. He finally let the wine slide down his throat and gingerly set the glass on the coaster.

Couples sat on tables behind him and enjoyed their meals, but they were not important this evening. They must not be, or else— _ merde. _ He exhaled a sigh. Or else that thread of sadness would pass through his chest and settle in his stomach, an unwelcome guest that refused to leave.

No, the colleagues he had arrived with were important. The wine he drank was important. His doctorate that he had worked hard on was important. Moving on, having a normal life. That was important.

And yet, as Edith's strong notes played, the notes that spoke of seeing the life through a rose-coloured haze in the arms of her lover…

La vie en rose, in La Ville Rose, his drink a rosé, warm soapy water he would prepare, with rose petals on top…

A friendly hand on his shoulder snapped him out of it. "This music simply does not fit the mood for tonight. I will ask the garçon if he could change it, okay?" Emily asked, and Oli nodded, his lips twisted in a pout, tears pressing on his eyes, about to burst.

"Garçon! A different song please, for my freshly graduated friend here!"

The man behind the bar regarded Oli with a knowing look and pressed a button.

Edith's strong notes continued to play, only this time she spoke of regrets, or rather their lack of. How every hardship, every heartbreak made her who she was.

Oli took another sip, that light bitterness with subtle fruity undertones of sweet grapes swishing in his mouth once more.

He swallowed it and forced a smile. Forced, yes. But nonetheless a smile that he truly meant this time.


	3. Party for one

Waking up hurt.

It hurt to have the dreams that  _ he _ had returned linger in the mornings and through the days, it hurt passing by the shelves full of empty picture frames, it hurt putting espresso in the moka pot that was a present from  _ him. _

The days passed, hurt-filled and empty. The ice thawed from the streets, the sun began to set later in the day, the cherry trees by the Garrone began to bloom, then turn orange, and one morning…it did not hurt, waking up. 

Instead of dreams, only sleep lingered on Oli's mind, and he rose from his bed into an empty bedroom, then walked through an empty living room to an empty kitchen.

Water, a spoonful of espresso into his moka pot, and the turntable caught his eye. His very old but brilliant turntable. Dusty from not working since—he sighed a heavy breath. Those silly vid calls.

_ No. _

The memories were beginning to settle once more, but he blinked them away, and rushed for the living room, for the bookcase full of equally dusty records.

*******

Egg-soaked slices of stale bread crackled on the pan as one of Oli's favourite bands echoed through his empty apartment, his hips and shoulders swaying to the rhythm.

Not for  _ someone _ on the other end of a vid call this time. Simply—for himself.


End file.
